The Market Girl

When I was seven years old, I vowed to myself that I would never step on a wet market.

I still remember the trips I would take to the wet market with Mama. I loved the part when she would buy me a new scrunchy, hair clip or headband from the bangketa. The part I dreaded the most? Going to the vegetables stalls and the meat stalls. I hated the smell of rotting garbage piled up in the stall corners and of dead animals dripping with blood.

I would pinch my nose for as long as I could then pull up my shirt collar to my nose and catch my breath. I would walk every so carefully especially along the meat aisles because I didn’t want to splotch mud all over my knees but somehow my thin rubber slippers weren’t enough to keep the icky mud-blood-spit gunk on the ground away from my feet.

Every time we arrived home from the market, I would come down with a cold. Mama concluded I was “allergic ” somehow and avoided taking me with her from then on.

Twenty years later, I’ve made my Saturdays a market day and I am now a Market Girl.

I still dislike that distinct market smell and the mud splotching on my feet. But it’s all good because our neighborhood market is clean and not smelly at all.

I actually like going to the market now because everything there is so cheap. Plus, when the vendor is extra nice she’ll give you daily deals right on the spot. I remember the friendly fish vendor called me suki on the first day I bought from her.

“O suki, 205 ‘to isang kilo, 200 na lang.”

Even the pretty chicken vendor was kind enough to save us some when we went to the market quite late. One time she told me, “Naku ma’am, pagtingin ko sayo, akala ko mauubusan ako ng Ingles.” Since I was a bit fair and had brownish hair, she just assumed I spoke only English.  Maybe she was just trying to pass some good PR so we’d always buy from her. But I found her nice nonetheless so she’s got our loyalty.

Guess who took my place as the anti-market girl? Jamaine likes going with me for the tricycle ride but always asks to be carried once we go to the meat and veggie stalls. She doesn’t like it when her feet gets wet or when she gets splotches on her legs. Oh well, I’m sure she’ll grow out of it somehow.